No Other Love (17 page)

Heat rushed to her cheeks, embarrassment mingling with excitement. Nicola hated it that she felt like this—as if she were the sort of weak creature men often painted women to be, controlled by their emotions and desires, easily tempted and even more easily giving in, the sort of being who must be protected not only from others but from herself, as well. She was both angry and humiliated at the way her nipples swelled and grew tender when Jack’s fingers brushed against her face as he wrapped the scarf about her eyes…at the warmth that blossomed between her legs in anticipation. She wondered if he had any idea of the effect he had upon her.
No doubt if he did it amused him terribly!

Jack wrapped his hand around her arm, and he guided her out the door, his voice low and warm in her ear. “There’s a step down here.” He held her arm firmly as she made her tentative way across what seemed to be a porch. “Now two more steps. There. Wait a moment while I untie my horse.”

She waited, listening to his voice murmuring to his mount as he untied it and the low answering neigh from his horse. She recognized the familiar sounds of a horse moving and shaking its head. Sternly she told herself that the ride back to Tidings would be different. She would hold herself aloof. She would not give in to the sensual thoughts and feelings that had overtaken her on the way here. It had been nonsensical of her to do so the first time; it was not like her at all. She was not a cold person—indeed, she was quite warm and loving with those she cared about—but with men she had a certain reputation of being disinterested, even cool, a woman who might flirt with one, but who would never be inclined to a little dalliance.

She felt Jack’s hands at her waist, lifting her up onto the horse. An instant later, he was up behind her, settling her against him and wrapping his arms around her as he had before. Nicola found herself fitting into her spot all too easily, and heat flooded her as his strong thighs cupped her buttocks, her stern resolutions evaporating in the reality of his touch. It amazed her that she had so little control over herself. She did not understand what was the matter with her, why she was acting so unlike herself.
How could her body respond so to a man she did not even like?

They made their way slowly through the night, the soft brush every now and then of leaves against her shoulder or face confirming her supposition that they were winding through trees. Her body shifted with the movement of the horse, rubbing her subtly against Jack, and a low noise escaped him, muffled quickly against her hair. Nicola felt the heat of his body rise, engulfing her.

She cast about desperately in her mind for something to say, to do, that would take her thoughts away from the tumult in her body. “I, um, I left a bag of meadowsweet for the fever, did I not?”

“Yes. You left your whole kit of herbs and potions there.” His breath ruffled her hair and touched her ear, sending a shiver of primitive response straight down through her to her loins.

“Oh. Yes, of course.” It had made sense to leave it, since she was coming right back, but Nicola knew that she had not made any conscious decision to do so. She had merely forgotten it, something she could not even remember doing. Jack Moore had a lethal effect on her mind as well as her senses, apparently.

He shifted a little in the saddle, pulling her back even more tightly against him. Nicola had to press her lips together to suppress a little gasp at the feel of him hard against her. His arms tightened around her, and she felt his head move against hers. She realized that he had buried his face in her hair at the crook of her neck. He said something, his voice muffled by her hair; she thought it was her name. Desire stirred in her, turning her loins soft and waxen.

His hand came up and pushed her hair back from her neck. He bent and pressed his lips against the tender flesh. Nicola knew that she should protest, should push away from him, but she could not make herself move. She felt languid and heated, dazed at the rush of sensual pleasure his lips evoked in her. His lips were warm and soft, the merest touch like a butterfly’s wing, yet they seared her like fire. She leaned back, her body melting involuntarily against him. The movement seemed to add fuel to the flame of his passion, for his hand slipped inside her cloak, pulling it apart, and he began to caress her body, his hand sliding back and forth across her waist, then drifting up until it brushed the undersides of her breasts.

Her nipples blossomed, swelling with heat, and Nicola had to bite back a most unladylike moan of hunger. Somehow, the fact that she was blindfolded made the situation even more sensual. Each new touch, each kiss, came as a surprise, and her lack of sight seemed to increase the sensitivity of her other senses, so that each sensation was heightened. Her breasts tingled with anticipation, eager to feel his touch. It was an embarrassing sensation, but at the same time, it was far too enjoyable to stop. All she could do was wait, barely breathing, for what he would do.

His hand slid down again, and she felt a dip of disappointment, but in the next instant his hand was roaming down past her waist onto the flat plane of her abdomen, touching her in a way that no one ever had. Nicola’s breath rasped in her throat, quick, almost panting. He explored her body boldly, moving all over her stomach and abdomen and down onto her thighs, and with each touch, Nicola felt herself melting more and more inside. There was a tingling heat between her legs, a prickling sensation that made her want to clamp her legs together to ease it, yet at the same time open up to him.

The last thought sent a flush of embarrassment rising to her cheeks that made her glad it was dark. She knew that he must assume her to be a wanton, the way she let him caress her so freely without even a protest. It was a humiliating realization, but she could not tell him to stop. There was a pulsing hunger inside her, a desire to feel all that she could feel, and that hunger was far stronger than any other emotion.

His hand slid up and down her side, the base of his palm brushing the side of her breast, and she trembled every time he grazed the soft orb. She ached for him to touch her breast; her hand tightened into a fist to keep from reaching out and pulling him to her. His lips moved up her neck and back down, onto the bony plateau of her collarbone, teasing and caressing, sending the flames roaring higher within her.

Just when Nicola thought she could stand the tension no longer, that she would have to beg him to take her breast in his hand, he did exactly that, cupping the underside of one breast. It gave her a certain amount of satisfaction to feel the shudder that ran through his body when he did so, for obviously it affected him as strongly as it did her.

He pressed his lips against the soft skin of her neck, nibbling and kissing, his breath a blast of hot air upon her flesh, while his hand gently squeezed her breast, his forefinger finding her nipple beneath the cloth of her dress and caressing it. Nicola could not hold back her soft groan at that. Gently his fingers played with her, digging gently into the supremely soft flesh of her breast, circling the hard button of her nipple, then squeezing it gently between his thumb and forefinger. His hand crept up over the top of her dress onto the sliver of soft breast above the neckline. He tried to slip his exploring fingers down beneath the material, but the dress thwarted him.

With a low noise of frustration, he went to the buttons down the front of her dress and began to undo them. His fingers were clumsy with haste, and two of the little buttons popped off, flying into the dark night. Then he was touching her bare breast, his skin sliding over her flesh, pushing down the thin barrier of her chemise. Her nipple tightened as the cool air touched it, and she could feel his response to the sight in the insistent throb against her hip. His hand covered the white orb, sliding gently over it to cup it from beneath, delighting in the heaviness in his palm. His thumb moved over the little bud of her nipple, stimulating it to a harder, tauter state. Her breasts felt swollen with desire, her nipples supremely sensitive, and with every motion of his hand, her passion flamed hotter.

His teeth nipped at her neck gently, his tongue tracing delicate patterns on her skin as his lips pressed like fire into her skin. And all the while, his hand aroused her breast, caressing and kneading, bringing every nerve in her body to life. Nicola had to fight the urge to turn and wrap her legs around him, to press the hot center of passion against his.

Now his hand was moving lower, undoing more of her buttons, delving down beneath her petticoats, fingertips gliding over the bare skin of her abdomen. Nicola drew a sharp breath. Never, even with Gil, had she felt such sensations. Hot, insistent desire pulsed between her legs; she felt swollen and hot, flooded with the moisture of desire. It was humiliating, she told herself, that he should see her this way, that she should crumble so completely beneath his assault on her senses. Yet she could not protest, could not tell him to stop. She wanted to feel this way, ached to feel it. His hand slipped over her satiny skin and through the prickle of hair, then into the hot, slick folds of her femininity. Nicola groaned, shaken to the core of her being. She had never dreamed that anything could be like this. His body was like a furnace against hers, his breath coming in harsh, fast pants. He buried his face in her neck, moaning her name.

“Lie with me tonight,” he murmured. “Here. I’ll make a bed on the leaves. The trees will shelter us.” He drew a shaky breath, his mouth trailing up her neck to her ear. His lips touched the silk of her blindfold, and he reached up, impatiently shoving it off and flinging it away. He pushed her hair back from her ear and pressed his lips to it.

“Let me love you. I want to be in you, part of you. I have dreamed…”

His voice trailed away as he rubbed his face against her hair. His voice, his words, were as sexual as a caress, creating a scene of such realism that Nicola shivered with desire. Yet even as the vision sent a shaft of longing spiraling through her, it made her think, with a piercing ache, of Gil and the long, delicious hours they had spent lying beneath a tree or sheltered by rocks, kissing and caressing, talking in low murmurs of their love. The heat had been fierce then, too, though never carried this far, never reaching the act of completion. Their caresses had been slow and tender, their time together moments of love, not the fire and rush of lust as this was.

Guilt and contempt sliced through her. She was betraying Gil, soiling his memory, with her low, lascivious passion for this man. She did not love Jack Moore; why, she barely knew him. There was nothing between them except sheer carnal hunger—and she knew that if she lay with him, she would be unfaithful to Gil and to their love as surely as if she were a married woman running to her lover.

“No!” She jerked away from him, leaning forward and pulling the sides of her gaping dress together. “No, I cannot.” Hurriedly she began to do up the little buttons that fastened the front of her dress.

For a moment, he did not move. She didn’t dare glance back at him. Then he straightened and took a firmer grasp of the reins. His arm curved around her back—it had to for him to hold the reins—but it was hard as iron now and held as far from her skin as possible. He nudged the horse forward with his heels.

Anger radiated from him with all the force of his frustrated passion, and Nicola found herself uneasily explaining, “I’m sorry. It would be wrong.”

“Of course it would.” His voice was light, at odds with his stiff posture. “A lady may dally with a peasant, but it would soil her to give him the pleasure of her body.”

“That isn’t it at all!” Nicola retorted hotly.

“Ah, so you are saying it is your high morals?” His sneering tone made clear what he thought of her moral level.

“Yes, it
is
my morals—and my honor. I am scarcely in the habit of jumping into the nearest bed of leaves with a man I do not know.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that when you were melting against me and moaning a few minutes ago,” he replied.

Humiliation flared bright red in Nicola’s cheeks, and she was furious to find that tears sprang into her eyes.

“Or was that merely an act, Lady Virtue?” he added. “Were you only teasing the buffoon to see how hot and desperate you could make him? Is that how you get your pleasures?”

“Stop it! I did not begin this. It was you who—”

“No, but you entered into it readily enough, didn’t you?”

“I will admit that. But fortunately I came to my senses!” Nicola spat out.

“Is that what you call it? I would have said it was you remembering your station.”

“It wasn’t remembering my station. It was remembering who I am—which is not a common trollop.”

“Common you are not,” he agreed in an infuriating drawl. “But I think you have the same heat in your blood as any maid in a tavern. A heat I can relight any time I wish.”

“Please…spare me your male braggadocio. You caught me in a strange moment of weakness. I am not your easy prey.”

“Is that right?” He chuckled in a way guaranteed to raise Nicola’s hackles. “Would you care to lay a bet on that?”

The desire that had melted her bones was completely gone now, burned up in the fire of her anger. “You think that I am going to wager on my virtue?” Nicola twisted around to face him and found that it was even more irritating to address that masked face, the upper half hidden and smooth, the lower half marked by a mocking sneer.

“You are a despicable man, and it would serve you right if I did not return tomorrow.”